


How Conor Dwyer Accidentally Slept With Several Male Swimmers and Doesn't Need Your Judgement

by MadamRoyale



Category: Swimming RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 05:19:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadamRoyale/pseuds/MadamRoyale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conor had never planned for everything to happen the way it did. It just occurred. Really. Scout’s honor. What kind of person would even set out to accomplish such a thing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Conor Dwyer Accidentally Slept With Several Male Swimmers and Doesn't Need Your Judgement

**Author's Note:**

> This story is meant in pure humor. Through numerous Twitter conversations, we have all agreed Conor is probably a bit of a slut. This story explores that. There is one line that needs to be explained. In the story, I write Conor has a "secret smile". This is taken from the song Secret Smile by Semisonic.

Conor had never planned for everything to happen the way it did. It just occurred. Really. Scout’s honor. What kind of person would even set out to accomplish such a thing? It wasn’t like gold medals were given out for best blow jobs or most submissive bottom. In terms of swimming, he had earned everything – the full ride to UF, NCAA’s Swimmer of the Year, a cherished spot on the Olympic team – through a heavy regiment of hard work and sacrifice. 

But somehow, through a series of impossible events, Conor Dwyer managed to sleep with half of the US Men’s Olympic Swim Team. It started like most of these things usually did – with Ryan Lochte. 

In 2010, Conor became a Gator. He was now a member of the one of the best collegiate swim teams in the country, maybe even the world. Every once and awhile, he would catch himself smiling just thinking about it, Conor Dwyer: Elite Swimmer. Would it be weird to have business cards printed with those words? It would, he acknowledged. But maybe he would do a few jokes ones for his friends and family. 

It was decided Ryan Lochte would mentor Conor, who couldn’t believe his luck. Ryan had competed in two Olympics and left each with a respectable medal count. He was one of those swimmers that only come around once in a generation. Ryan pushed Conor, guided him through tough practices, and challenged him when he began to lag. But he was quick with compliments and suggestions for how to improve strokes. Conor was grateful that someone like Ryan had taken an interest in someone like him.

An interest, as it was proven one day after practice, which extended outside of the pool. The two were in the showers, just them. Conor was concentrating on the hot water relaxing his tight muscles. He was brought back into reality by the feeling of hands kneading his shoulders. He froze. What the fuck was this? Before Conor could regain the ability to speak, he felt warm breath graze his ear.

“You’ve been doing so good in practice. I wanna give you a reward.”

Holy Fuck. Ryan? Okay, so maybe he liked giving massages to naked guys in the shower. He followed the beat of his own drummer, it was a possibility.

Ryan pushed Conor against the tile wall and sunk down to his knees. Then all of a sudden Conor’s cock was inside of Ryan’s mouth and would be become the best blowjob of Conor’s life.  
He didn’t last long. All Conor could really do was run his hand through Ryan’s wet curls, tilt his head back, and bite his bent index finger when he came down Ryan’s throat. 

After that, a reward system started. Anytime Conor had a string of success practices, he was given with a job of the blow or hand variety. This eventually progressed to Conor showing his gratitude by sucking Ryan’s cock for awhile. Eventually Conor ended up in Ryan’s bed, legs wrapped firmly around the other man’s waist, screaming obscenities and the Lord’s name. 

Everything was going relatively well until the first big swim meet and his initial encounter with Michael Fucking Phelps. 

Michael Fucking Phelps. He was the man. The legend. The Messiah of swimming. A king. A god. Half human, half dolphin. 

And he knew Conor’s name. 

It was the day before the meet when everyone was mulling around the deck preparing to swim laps. Ryan and Michael were talking about something when Conor walked past. Michael Fucking Phelps turned and spoke. 

“Dwyer, right? Ryan told me a lot about you.”

Silence. 

“Me and Rye usually get a game of Spades going during meets. Ricky’s not here, so would you be interested?”

Conor was still trying to comprehend that Michael Fucking Phelps knew his goddamn name. Now he was being invited to the card game? 

“Sure. That’d be awesome. Thanks, man.”

Before he could continue, he noticed Coach Troy giving him the eye. He had exactly 30 seconds to get into the water.

“Fuck, I better start my laps. Coach is giving me a look.”

“You do that. See you tonight.”

Conor could have swore he saw Michael Fucking Phelps giving him the once over before he left. Not like he was sizing him as competition but an appreciative stare.

That look would later be confirmed as the latter when Conor was on all fours with Michael slamming into him from behind. Ryan watched the scene while rubbing his hard cock. None of them could really explain how a game of cards ended up like this. 

Between labored breaths, Michael kept complimenting Conor. He was so tight, so pliable. Since it was the day before the meet, Conor was only fucked by Michael. However, after all the races were over, the three celebrated by doing some very debauched things together. 

Maybe it was training with some of the best swimmers. Maybe it was Gregg Troy’s system of distance swimming and land drills that focused on abdominal muscles. Or maybe just being in Florida with its year round great weather, a far cry from blistering cold mornings he faced in both Illinois and Iowa, but Conor flourished. He was awarded the NCAA Male Swimmer of the Year. Still high from his title, he received even more good news when an invite to the Olympic training center followed shortly after. The camp was for the benefit of returning Olympians and hopefuls like himself. 

Returning Olympians like Anthony Ervin. 

Tony Ervin intimidated the fuck out of Conor. He was literally, in both body and mind, everything Conor was not. His arms were covered in tattoos, he read Shakespeare for fun, and then there was the issue of his past. Swimmers whispered about it on pool decks anytime Tony walked by. He burned bright, won gold, left in a hurry, did a bunch of drugs, and somehow ended up back here. An article legally could not be written about him without the word “comeback” in it. 

But Tony was cool. Like the actual definition of the word. Yeah, he had experienced some rough times but he also had lived. He was bright and approachable. And he never teased Conor about his own upbringing. Jesus, the minute his teammates found out Conor came from money, they never let it down. He was used to being prejudged because of it. Most rich kids do not generate positive feelings with their piss poor decisions. 

Tony didn’t care. Tony cared about his new lease on life and living for the moment. He cared about positive karma and giving everything to this second chance he was granted.  
It didn’t take long for Conor to just fall head over feet for Tony. And when that night finally happened, the night Tony kissed him under a mess of stars, did Conor admit to himself just how badly he needed those lips. 

They didn’t fuck until the last night of training camp. It wasn’t rough like with Michael or a rush to a climax with Ryan. There was something else. Conor felt it as Tony pushed into him, probing Conor’s mouth as they both held onto each. 

But then it was over. Conor spent the rest of his summer break at his parent’s house sleeping in and playing video games with his brothers. He tried not to smile when Tony would text him. 

Senior year of college is usually a terrifying time for most people. First, it’s spent completing whatever courses one wants out of the way so to enjoy the Spring semester. Who wants to complete a thesis or capstone when they are thisclose to graduation? But then the crippling reality of life teabags your face. You need a real job, preferably something you majored in. Imagine your surprise when all the big political science companies aren’t hiring. You need a new place to live. That requires money that wasn’t in the form of a loan from the government. Oh God, you have to pay back all of your student loans. Most people begin to panic and after Googling “how to fake your own death” comes back with no practical information, true adulthood seems to be destined. 

Conor didn’t experience any of that, well except the senior capstone thing. Despite what most people thought, he had given some serious thought to his life after swimming. He decided to take some time off and apply to graduate school. His grades were good and UF had a great MBA program. So that was settled. Now he just had to make the Olympic team. Piece of cake.

It was during a random meet when Conor was reunited with an old friend, Matt Grevers. They had trained together as kids in Illinois. Matt was still the same guy, although gigantically tall even amongst swimmers. He had recently gotten engaged to his longtime girlfriend Annie, at a swim meet no less. How utterly swim-tactular. Rumor had it though one person wasn’t too excited about the proposal – Matt’s boyfriend Nathan Adrian.

Conor decided long ago it should be illegal to be Nathan. His looks and body were perfection. But if that wasn’t enough, he also was intelligent, witty, and was a genuinely good person. What the fuck was that about? Was he real or just put on earth to annoy people with his awesome everything? However, he wasn’t completely perfect. He was in love with an almost married man who seemingly had no intention of leaving the little woman. 

So Nathan was pissed and Conor was there. Conor, who was training hard and a bit overwhelmed with school. Conor who hadn’t had a night out in just about forever. Conor who had swam a new personal best and deserved to let off a little steam. With Nathan. Because Conor was there. 

He was a slut around alcohol. Couldn’t help it, never could. But so was Nathan, who happened to be sharing a room with Matt. After a night racking up an impressive tab at the hotel’s bar, the two stumbled over each other back to Nathan’s room. Matt was somewhere with Annie, the words fell with malice from Nathan’s mouth. 

Nathan pushed Conor onto a bed and the rest of the night was a series of blurred images. Conor recalled fingers disappearing inside of him, a busy tongue lapping at his chest and eventually swirling around his cock. Nathan bit down on his neck as he came deep inside Conor, with no condom. That stuck out in his memory. Conor finished himself off while Nathan watched. Again, another semi-hazy moment that was pressed into his brain.

The next morning, Conor was awoken by Matt who had a curious look his face. 

“You’re sleeping in my bed.”

Conor’s eyes scanned the room and Nathan was sound asleep in the other bed. However, their separation had no bearing – it was obvious sex was had. Sore as hell, Conor retrieved clothes (he would later realize the tshirt belonged to Nathan) and made a hasty dash toward his own room. 

He was unsure of where he stood with Matt. Obviously they had an open relationship as proven by Annie’s existence. However, Annie was a girl, so was it open season with just girls? Too many variables and if his high school algebra grade was an indication, Conor hated variables. He laid low and kept to himself during his races. After a so-so showing, Conor wanted a long shower and an even longer sleep.  
Conor brushed his teeth, a towel slung low on his defined hips. Phase one of his plan – a long shower – had been successfully completely. He was prepping to initiate phase two when there was a knock on his door. He spit out the mouthful of toothpaste and rinsed quickly before padding over to the door. It was Matt. 

“Do you have a minute?” he asked while entering the room. 

“Sure. Um, let me get dressed.”

“No, I won’t stay long. Seriously. So, you and Nate?”

“Look, we were drinking and…”

“Dude, I get it. It’s fine. He said you guys had some fun. I’m not mad.”

“Okay, good. I was worried, I didn’t know, like, what the deal was. Well, I know what the deal is between you two. I mean…yeah, can I start over?”

Matt laughed and walked a few steps toward Conor’s direction.

“We’re…complicated. But I am annoyed with him. He got to fuck you first.”

What. The. Hell. When did Conor’s life become a porno? He suddenly felt like a pizza delivery guy was about to show up and ask him if he wanted some thick sausage. Conor was trying to focus on the arising situation when he felt Matt’s hands unwrap the towel from around his waist. His mind was screaming “No! Stop this! He shall not pass!” but his cock was betraying him “Well, hello! Another eager hand? Wait, did the brain just make a Lord of the Rings reference?” In the end, his cock won out like it always did. Matt’s large hands were efficient and deftly apt in their mission. Before he could succumb completely, Conor found his own hands reaching into Matt’s pants and grasping onto his hardness. 

Conor found himself lying on top of Matt, veraciously sucking his cock, while Matt was underneath pleasing Conor’s sex at the same time. Matt came first with a shout, semen now mixing with sweat on Conor’s face. Later, he mounted Matt and bobbing up and down his shaft like an unsatisfied whore. 

Matt didn’t stay. Word got back to Conor through the gossipy grapevine Matt and Nathan had a nasty fight that same evening. No one was sure what it was about and most assumed it was another one of Nathan’s empty ultimatums of either him or Annie. But Conor was willing to wager Annie was not the center of this latest argument. He realized Nathan had probably used him to get back at Matt and vice versa in some twisted game the two men had long mastered. 

Conor could not dwell on the situation long because Olympic trials were coming up. Omaha would be the site of his greatest achievement. After a strong showing, he earned a spot on the US Men’s Olympic Swim Team for the London games. His senses were blurred as the reality of moment began to take form. He did it. He really did it. 

After the trials came the training camps plural. The first one was in Tennessee which became sort of a ghost of sexings past for Conor. Ryan and Michael Fucking Phelps were going because they were the best swimmers ever. The media was already eating up their rivalry. It amused Conor how bloggers and reporters would probably wet themselves in excitement if they knew Ryan and Michael were fucking like teenagers. The Matt and Nathan Show was there sans special guest Annie. And Tony, who caused Conor to use his secret smile. 

But taper became Conor’s saving grace. Taper was especially taken seriously during pre-Olympic warm ups. No one was having sex. Sex wasted energy that could be used to win medals. Shiny medals. Conor wanted a medal. 

He also was tired of being the Team Slut. No one could keep their mouths shut. Word spread that Conor was an easy fuck. He was all for personal choice and really it wasn’t anyone’s business. He could have an orgy with 100 men if he wanted. People needed to stop being such prudes especially when they acted like heathens behind closed doors. Conor had grown weary of such an existence. So he decided to grow some balls and correct one mistake he had made during his great sexual odyssey. 

“Conor! Come in, come in.”

After making his grand scheme, Conor found himself standing outside of his door. It was like everyone else’s door in the dorm. Same light shade of wood, sturdy because of heavy use. It made a similar pang when Conor had knocked on it before finding himself on the other side of the door. 

“Um, are you busy?”

“No, just reading.”

“You know the cafeteria is still open. I wanted to see if you were interested in grabbing some bad coffee and sitting outside for a bit. Or tea! I forgot, you’re really into tea.”

“That I am. And sure, sounds great.”

Tony Ervin still intimidated the fuck out of Conor. But in a very different way than before.


End file.
